Page 76 of Bound

She peeked out the window, feeling an uneasy lurch that the moon was still high and the stars bright. That was worse than an early morning and a day full of catching up on the day before. It meant thinking, instead. Of self-recriminations and...

Privy, first.

Out the back door. Through the covered breezeway and into the little room separate from the house.

That particular need met, she shuffled back into the kitchen, feeling better for the cool water she’d rubbed onto her face, swollen and itchy as it remained from her seemingly endless tears.

She should check on everyone. She would need a lantern as the sky was dim, with the moon a mere sliver in the sky. The kitchen was darker still, the hearth quiet. Wren should scrape the ashes, set new logs and coal and make a proper meal.

She didn’t.

She sat in the dark, wishing Merryweather would join her, even if it was simply to pester for a horridly early breakfast.

But she was tucked in their bed. Leaving Wren with her thoughts.

She didn’t feel numb any longer. Not exactly. Instead, she was raw. Exposed. As if... as if all the effort she’d made to push aside the memories had ripped. Broken. And she wasn’t certain how to smooth it over again. To function when it hurt so.

The kitchen was stuffy. She should open the windows and allow the breeze to catch and cool as it tumbled through. But that was more effort that simply opening the front door.

She thought nothing of undoing the bolt. There would be no Braum on the other side. No matter what he thought, no matter what he believed, no man would spend half a day waiting. Not when there was work to do and coin to make and a market that she’d missed for the second time in the same month.

Wren sighed. Pulled it open.

And it certainly wasn’t disappointment when there was only hard pressed earth and a few flagstones scattered about. There had been talk of paving a proper path at one point. Back when her father lived there, and he thought they’d entertain visitors as soon as people got used to their arrangement.

But that hadn’t happened, had it?

Something touched her foot, and she took a hasty few steps back, eyes darting over the dark floor for some sign of an invader. Merryweather kept the house blessedly free of pests. Whether winged or simply in possession of far too many legs, Wren would not hesitate to fetch her rather than face the threat alone.

She went to the kitchen table. The lamp there was easy to light, the tools handy, and she gave as thorough an inspection as she could, checking first the ceiling, then the walls, then...

She swallowed.

Not an insect, after all.

A bit of parchment, folded and lying innocuously on her floor.

A part of her insisted she burn it. Remove all temptation to be won over by pretty words and empty promises.

She did not doubt who had put it there. He was persistent. She could allow him that. Even as she felt conflicted about how she felt about that particular quality. Firen would be flattered. Her mother would find it endearing.

But for Wren, alone? She stooped low and picked it up between her thumb and forefinger. As if by its presence alone she might be infected with...

What exactly?

She was no liar. She’d been in this position before.

There might have been more talk of obligation, of her cruelty if she ignored him, and perhaps she only needed time to feel the bond as he did? It would be selfish, wouldn’t it, to not simply try?

She placed it on the table.

Put the lamp on top of it.

It couldn’t do any harm there, surely?

Her stomach made another plea for nourishment, coiling strangely with the new tension she’d found along with the note. Or maybe it wasn’t a note at all. A picture? She did not know if he could draw. Or what he might draw.

She chewed at her lip. Opened the pantry cupboard and, despite her want of distraction, could not bring herself to cook anything—most especially given how long it would take for the hearth to heat properly after her neglect.